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I had known they were spending nights together, but sex was in question for obvious reasons. It makes sense though—why he’d want to see if he could have sex. At least, that’s what I’m assuming he means. I finish his thought, treading lightly. “Have normal sex?”
“Yeah.”
“Normal as in consensual, or normal as in not kinky at all?” I find the courage to ask. When Carter raises an eyebrow at me, I force a laugh to hide how stupid I feel. “None of my business. Sorry. I was just curious. I—well, I think one day…” I pause, looking away from him toward the fire.
These thoughts are ones I haven’t let myself really acknowledge lately. Ones that have been getting more and more loud now that I’m safe. Before, it was so easy for those thoughts to make me hate myself, to make me feel like I deserved everything I got, but now… I mean, if Carter and Travis are having kinky sex, maybe it’d be okay for me to as well?
I take a risk, carefully asking him, “Do you think it’d be fucked up if I wanted something…”
“Kinky?” he finishes for me when I lose my nerve.
“Yeah. I mean, not the intense stuff, but some of it was… God, it was nice. How awful is that?” My face burns hotter than the fire itself. I hang my head, shame curling up inside me like a poisonous black smoke. “It’s disgusting.”
“I loved being tied up,” Carter says, not sounding disgusted at all. If anything, he sounds relieved. I snap my chin up to look at him, wanting to make sure he’s not fucking with me. He’s not. My heart races as he continues. “And there were times when he’d hurt me while fucking me, and I’d fly so fucking high.”
“High, yes.” I remember that feeling. Like nothing could touch me. I was a good boy, hurting for my master. “Exactly.”
“I miss warming him sometimes,” he admits next.
God, do I miss warming. Especially the men who were truly just interested in the warming and not in fucking with me. To just have the familiar weight of a cock on my tongue, my head lolled to the side, a calm settling over everything as I just sat still and was a good boy with a cock in my mouth. If it was Travis, he’d even run his hands through my hair and hum in pleasure from time to time, a reward for making him happy. A reward for being a good boy. My eyes burn from the ache of missing it.
“It was like the world fell away, if the person was nice,” I whisper, hoping he can’t tell I’m still picturing Travis in front of me, feeling an echo of his fingers in my hair even now.
“Like all that mattered was him,” Carter adds.
I don’t realize I’m crying until I try to look at Carter again and see how blurry his face is. I sniffle and wipe at my eyes, feeling stupid. I go back to looking at the fire before he can see that I’m upset. “Yeah…”
“You deserve to feel that in a safe way,” Carter says firmly. “Like, before I found out the truth, he’d sometimes give me my consent back when we were alone in the bedroom, and sometimes I used it to tell him he could fuck me. It was still iffy consent-wise, but it was close enough to feel safe and be able to sink into that headspace without all the negative thoughts or feelings that sometimes came along with it when he put me there mentally other times. I don’t know if that even makes sense.”
It does, I want to tell him. It really fucking does.
“I’m just trying to say that you deserve to go looking for that, if you want. Be a kinky motherfucker. You’ve earned the right.”
My whole body buzzes. I didn’t need his permission—hell, I barely even fucking know him—but it feels like a hundred good boys in a row, like freedom, like I can breathe. Maybe, just maybe, I can still get my dream from all those years ago, but safely this time. Loving this time.
“Thanks, Carter.”
Carter shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but I don’t think I believe him. “Sure.”
I watch the flames dance in the fireplace, thinking of the dream I’ve started having. It always starts the same way—well, maybe I can’t say always yet since I’ve only had the dream twice so far, but both times it started the same way. One of the outdoor security guards comes up behind me, pressing a glove-covered hand to my mouth, one arm wrapping around my waist to pin me back against his chest. He whispers, “Shh, it’s okay, I’m taking over now.”
The dream changes after that. We’re in a cabin. I’m fighting him, kicking and swinging, my mouth stuffed with a crude gag. He shoves me to my knees and pulls the gag free, squatting down in front of me so I can look into his eyes. He’s a stranger.
“Wait,” I gasp, trying to catch my breath. “I don’t—this isn’t what I want.”
He smiles, tilting his head like he finds my denial adorable. “Don’t lie to your master, slave. This is what you want. More importantly? It’s what you need.”
I shake my head. “No.”
The first time I had the dream, he got mad at me when I said no, grabbing me by the biceps and yanking me to my feet, then shoving me backward onto a bed. He was suddenly pressing his cock into me, my legs wrapped around him.
The second time I had the dream, he was less mad and more… determined. Determined to prove me wrong. To show me what I need. In that dream, he was shutting me up with his cock in my mouth.
In both dreams, whether he was entering my ass or my mouth, he said, “This is where you belong,” as he did it.
In the first dream, I screamed, begging him to stop. He told me there was no one around to hear, that I could scream if I needed to, if it’d make me feel better.
“We both know you want it, slave,” he murmured low in my ear, fucking me hard and deep. He wrapped one hand around my throat, the other around my hard cock. “This betrays you. Needy little slut, hard for your master.”
